


Black birds

by triplezzz



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, inspired by all the the fake tattoos and zhengyi contents 180610 gifted us, the tattoo artist au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 07:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplezzz/pseuds/triplezzz
Summary: Ziyi gets a name on the second meeting, gets to call it on the third meeting, gets a meal on the fourth meeting and gets his heart stolen perhaps on the first meeting.





	Black birds

He comes on a Monday morning, dew and droplets fresh on his skin, on his hair, drunken flush across his cheek but eyes as clear as they come. Behind the glass doors are a foggy white and dimmed sound of rain, and altogether they blend into a surreal vision, this boy standing before him so out of place yet belonging. Nevertheless, there he remains still even after Ziyi blinks, keeping his gaze steady and fascinating the words away from Ziyi’s mouth, locking him in a speechless stare.

 

“Are you open?”

 

His voice is soft, the phrasing polite, the tone subdued, but there’s an underlying firmness that makes Ziyi thinks he’s not asking a question as much as making a demand. So he nods, despite having sent away his last client barely an hour ago, forgetting to lock the doors because he fell into a short sleep after a long session took its toll on him. The nap will be enough to rejuvenate him for the next few hours, he muses as he leads his guest inside and offers him a towel. All he gets is a puzzled look in return, as if the boy is oblivious to his own state.

 

“Some people may feel feverish after a tattoo. Won’t want you catching a cold even before we start,” he smiles, putting the towel in a hand cold to the touch.

 

The boy’s mouth falls open in understanding and he’s quick to give his thanks, lightly ruffling his hair, wiping his face and patting down on the damp patches of his clothes. Ziyi tears his eyes away to start preparing his equipments.

 

“Any design in mind?”

 

The answer comes a beat later, although not due to contemplation. “I want to cover this up.”

 

When he looks up, the boy has lifted up the hem of his shirt, a hint of black ink above his hipbone. Ziyi’s breath catches a little, and he tells himself it’s because of the unexpected request instead of the span of exposed skin. He straightens up and goes to recline the bed.

 

Once the boy has made himself comfortable he doesn’t need to be told to roll up his clothes, hands tugging down pants just enough for the rubber of his briefs to peek, the lowest swash a millimetre away from it.

 

It’s a word, in cursive writing. Not too big – something to be grateful of for a cover up work – moreover sparse and light in weight. Ziyi traces the lines with his eyes. It’s not a bad job, he deems, and thus concludes a sentimental reason, noting to himself to keep the questions technical.

 

“What would you like?” he tries again, hearing the boy heave a breath.

 

“I don’t really have anything in mind. What do you think would be nice?”

 

And Ziyi doesn’t usually do this, never actually does it, preferring a thorough discussion and joint decision with the clients who aren’t yet sure of what they wish to get, but the word _‘_ butterfly’ flutters past his lips.

 

He can already picture it. Dark blue wings over shadows of leaves, mid flight, a splash of colour amongst monochrome. So he starts sketching on the skin, stroke after stroke, letting minutes tick by until the vision in his mind comes to life. When he leans back the boy moves forward to observe, and looks back up with a newfound twinkle.

 

“Looks good,” says him, for the first time showing a smile albeit small, to which Ziyi returns one in earnest.

 

It doesn't take long to lose himself in the work, inking in a trance, hands and mind in a single track. Focused, immersed, like he always gets every time inspiration slams him, something that's growing increasingly rare so he doesn't take it for granted when it comes, halted only by the droplet of sweat kissing the skin inches away from his needle.

 

Ziyi blinks out of his zone, as if only now remembering to breathe, and wipes the moisture gathering on his chin and along his jaw. He reaches over to take a clean sheet of paper towel and catches the boy's gaze, lips upturning to give him a reassuring smile, feeling his own fall open as something brews within him.

 

"Sorry," he spurts while wiping at the inked skin, erasing the trace of his sweat. What for, he's not even sure.

 

The boy only hums, soft, the sound working wonders to reel him back into his mind, and he picks up where he left off, turning hours into endless instance.

 

Touch ups, last bits of details, a clean swipe with a damp towel and time returns to normal. As the boy admires his new skin Ziyi too can't take his eyes away, equally mesmerised by the fit despite the swelling and redness.

 

"It's beautiful." Sparkles reflect off of his orbs, big and wondrous, and Ziyi can't help but agree.

 

"It suits you."

 

The boy giggles, finally looking up at him, and his breath hitches once again because while observing them has been very pleasant, to have those starry eyes directed right at him might just be a tad too much.

 

"Thank you."

 

The words and the smile, the bright bold stare and the gratitude they hold are what play repeatedly even when the boy's long gone, when he's done cleaning and the doors locked, sun glaring high up where it was but a hint of light when he whirled in.

 

Ziyi grabs whatever leftover he can find in the fridge and goes through them without really tasting, fulfilling the hunger of two late meals, and only with his stomach filled does the call of sleep return, kept at bay so persistently before by the presence of the boy that even now still lingers in the air.

 

Thanking the foresight that has kept his appointment empty, he goes to sleep the rest of the day and the night away.

 

.

 

He doesn't think the boy would ever come back, doesn't dare to hope for a return, still sometimes unsure if the whole incident wasn't just something his brain conjured up in exhaustion, but nearly two months later there he stands in the same spot, bringing with him a gush of windy air as the doors slide close.

 

Tiny dots litter the fabric around his shoulders, scarcer further down, and like a vehicle finished with its job the drizzle stops altogether, leaving behind a smile once eyes meet.

 

“Hello,” tinkles the boy, rows of teeth white and bright, and Ziyi grasps tighter at the box of tea he has just retrieved from the cabinet.

 

“Hi.”

 

His greeting comes out a surprised exhale but the boy seems to take no notice, grin growing wider across his face.

 

“I’d like to get another tattoo.”

 

He says that with childish excitement, feet bobbing up slightly, body swaying before he catches himself and forces a quiet stance that barely conceals his enthusiasm. And Ziyi, he can't help but laugh along, infected so quickly by this whirlwind of energy the boy radiates.

 

“Okay,” he replies and repeats, guiding the boy into the room. “Care for some tea?”

 

Plugging in the electric kettle, he takes out two cups and a pot, spooning leaves into the filter as the boy gets settled, ‘yes please’ and ‘thank you’ spoken between his nods. Once done, he slides his chair to the bed and takes a closer look at the image on the phone screen.

 

Planets, arranged in a neat row in greyscale.

 

“I want these on my ribs,” he explains, dragging a finger over the area, voice laced with eagerness, and taking a split-second to imagine the outcome Ziyi too understands, because it surely makes pretty picture.

 

In the middle of sketching the kettle pops. Ziyi pours in the water and lets their tea steep while he finishes, taking the warm cups and passing one over to the boy who accepts gratefully and hums when he takes a sip.

 

“Is it to your liking?”

 

He takes another sip and gives another hum before answering with a content sigh. “Yes.”

 

Ziyi tries to suppress his smile before he asks again, gesturing to the creases on his shirt where it had been rolled up seconds ago. “The placement, I mean.”

 

The boy looks down and lets out an ‘ah’, followed by a shy chuckle. “Yes, of course,” he mumbles smilingly, hiding behind the teacup.

 

It stirs a little something in his chest, the bashful action; so Ziyi reacts by gulping down the rest of his tea and turning away to put aside the empty cup.

 

“Great. We can start as soon as you’re ready.” He speaks with his back facing the boy, only to be greeted with another empty cup as he turns around, held politely in two hands.

 

“We can start now,” the boy puffs, all shyness set aside in favour of excitement once again.

 

A few minutes pass along, too short of a time frame for Ziyi to disappear into his work and thus why he doesn’t think he imagines it when the boy slowly deflates, sinking onto the bed. It’s a bit alarming – he puts down his needle soon as he completes the line and leans over. The boy has his eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering slightly with every exhale, and although he looks the picture of calm it does nothing to ease the panic rising within Ziyi. Just as he’s about to give him a shake the boy blinks, squinting at the light, then at Ziyi’s hand hovering above his shoulder.

 

“Is something wrong?” He raises his head, making a move to sit before Ziyi shakes his head and gestures for him to stay, slumping weakly into his chair.

 

“I thought you'd passed out.”

 

The laughter that follows is loud, boisterous, unlike anything the boy has shown so far yet also as charming and infectious. A lopsided smile makes its way on Ziyi’s face as the boy’s whole frame trembles, eyes crinkling and mouth wide open. “How?”

 

“I’ve had people cry and scream during a session, but never one that actually passed out on me, alright. You got me scared for a minute there.”

 

“I’m–sorry?” he boy croaks, sounding anything but. “I was just. Enjoying.”

 

The boy doesn’t get to finish his sentence, cut abrupt by another bout of laughter when he catches Ziyi’s raised eyebrow.

 

Once calmed down, as if able to read Ziyi’s mind – or maybe it’s that clearly written across his face – he elaborates, “It is painful, but also relaxing, somehow? For me, at least.”

 

Ziyi hums, straightening his body and turning on the tattoo machine once again. “It’s the same way for some people. Either you get one and be done with it for the rest of your life, or you come back for another, and another.”

 

A small smirk plays on the boy’s lips, mirroring his own. “I guess we now know which one I am.”

 

About an hour into the process, the front doors make way for a person, an appointment that has completely escaped his mind. Ziyi apologises and asks her to wait a little longer, skipping back in to finish the outline of the boy’s tattoo.

 

“It’s my fault. I forgot to check my schedule,” he insists against the boy’s repeated ‘sorry’. Another ten minutes for a satisfying enough groundwork, a sanitising wipe and a bandage, and then he’s taking off his gloves and grabbing a leather-bound book, flipping the pages until the writings lessen and spaces increase. He hands it to the boy along with a pen.

 

“You can write down your name and a time in the empty slots whenever you’re free. I’d recommend waiting for at least two weeks before another session though. To let the skin heal.”

 

Skimming through dates, the boy stops at one and scribbles on the empty page, closing the book and giving it back to Ziyi before he could get a read.

 

“Sorry about that,” he says, helping the boy off the bed.

 

“Nah,” a shake of head, a sheepish grin. “I was the one who barged in without an appointment.”

 

A prolonged second with Ziyi’s hand still supporting the slender forearm, thin but firm, simultaneously hyperaware and reluctant to let go.

 

The boy takes a step and the standstill dispels. He waves him a cheery goodbye and offers an apologetic nod to the woman waiting outside. Ziyi watches him walk out into the night.

 

Hours later, with all his equipments cleaned and kept, he pauses from locking the room and retrieves the book by his work desk; searching for the newest entry and finding it on a Saturday three weeks away from today. He traces the blue ink and chuckles at the drawing of a pig head beside the name. Zhengting, it reads. Ziyi rolls the syllables past his tongue and hears the sound out of his own mouth. Intrigued and maybe just the littlest bit enamoured.

 

.

 

Anticipation. Knowing the boy will be coming sends a thrum beneath his skin, strumming quietly in contrast to the harsh hits of the rain. It hasn’t stopped pouring since morning, as if serving as a reminder should he ever forget.

 

Ziyi grabs the towel he has prepared and hands it to the smiling pair of eyes. At least the boy brings an umbrella with him this time, leaving only the last quarter of his trousers to suffer from soaking. He offers him a steaming mug of tea.

 

“You seem to like it the last time,” he remarks, observing the surprised look morph into something softer and warm.

 

“I do.” Most probably recalling their tiny miscommunication, the boy lets out a quiet snicker when his hands curl around the mug. “Thank you.”

 

Ziyi lets him finish the tea while he goes on to do the necessary set ups, tying his hair away from his face and washing his hands.

 

“Zhengting, right?” He waits for the boy to turn to him before asking. “You wrote it in the book. Can I call you that?”

 

A short pause to swallow down the tea, then a nod and an answer. “Sure.”

 

Inwardly sighing in relief and happy to finally be able to call him by name, Ziyi swivels in his chair and continues his preparation. “Whenever you’re ready.”

 

They make small talks about the tattoos, the aftercare, how they’re healing so far – impersonal at first, until Zhengting asks for a name and Ziyi gladly gives him his. From there on the conversation teeters into brief introductions, little facts, horoscopes, blood types, finding out they’re of the same age, to Ziyi’s incredulity and Zhengting’s smug amusement. It dwindles into a natural silence as both lose themselves in the act, one honing his mind into a single focus while the other lets it loose.

 

Zhengting is half-asleep when it’s done. Would have slept had they gone just half an hour longer, instead startled awake by the cling of the bandage. Ziyi pats his shoulder in apology and gives him a glass of water, watching him gulp it down with eyes still shut. One hand cradles the glass on his thigh while the other curls into a loose fist, rubbing at his eyes in a way akin to a puppy. Ziyi tries his best not to make a sound, but a tiny creak might have escaped him when he sees the subtle pout Zhengting makes when he forces his eyes open.

 

“Hey, sorry for waking you. Thought you might want to see it first,” he clears his throat, motioning to the full-length mirror at the side of the room.

 

Suddenly alert, Zhengting skips to stand in front of the mirror, turning sideways and lifting up his shirt to inspect his new tattoo. Ziyi follows after him, a little nervous. Unwarranted, it seems like, judging from the way Zhengting’s face lights up, gaze transfixed to the line of spheres.

 

“You like it?”

 

“I _love_ it,” he gasps, spinning around. The clear bandage coats over his skin with a glisten, casting an illusion of shine on the planets, but they pale in comparison to the bright gleam in his eyes.

 

Ziyi is shaken out of his daze by a pair of hands grabbing on his arms, swinging them side to side.

 

“Thank you,” chirps Zhengting, loud against his silence. Ziyi nods, gathering his thoughts and muttering a ‘no problem’, rooted still to his spot even after Zhengting has let go of him to turn back towards the mirror.

 

He drags his feet away, looking for something to occupy himself with, to distract from the way Zhengting is admiring his tattoo, hands going through the steps of brewing tea but eyes still elsewhere, too difficult to tear from such unguarded joy and wonder.

 

Zhengting whips around and catches him staring. Too startled to look away, Ziyi could only watch as the boy beams and strides towards him, asking for another cup.

 

“See you soon,” bids him at the doorway, one arm raised in a soft wave. The other holds his folded umbrella like a cane, of no use now that the rain has stopped in the middle of their chat over tea, one pot after another, until he took a look at his ringing phone and excused himself shortly, refusing Ziyi’s offer to walk him to the station with a laugh and a swish of hand.

 

“Be careful on your way,” he calls once Zhengting steps on the pavement.

 

The boy turns and throws him one last grin along with a tilt of his head, before picking up his pace and leaving the image to stay in Ziyi’s mind.

 

.

 

When it drizzles a week later after days of scorching hot sun, it’s only half a hopeful musing that flits past his brain while he washes his hands, fresh off finishing his first session of the day.

 

The doors do in fact slide open, however, and in walks the very person in his thoughts just moments ago.

 

“I know you said two weeks,” Zhengting starts, mistaking his incredulous stare for a sceptical look. “But this one’s nowhere near my torso and very, very small, so,” he pauses, folding his lips, “please?”

 

The request is perfectly reasonable. The problem is, even if Zhengting had asked for all those things he’d warned against, Ziyi still doesn’t think he could’ve rejected him.

 

But that’s for him alone to figure out later, because right now Zhengting is goggling at his new tattoo – line work of an old fashioned key on the side of his index finger, indeed very small and took only fifteen minutes to complete – looking bright despite the telltale eye bags missing from his previous visits.

 

At last, the need to blurt out a question wins against his attempt to quell it. “What’s the occasion?”

 

Zhengting finally takes his eyes off of his fingers, not wasting a second to give him an answer. “To celebrate me moving into the area.”

 

Ziyi’s mouth drops into a gape. Before he can continue asking, Zhengting beats him to it.

 

“Do you have another appointment waiting?” he asks expectantly.

 

“…Not until tonight.”

 

Another question dies on his lips when Zhengting claps his hands and rises. “Great! Where’s a good place to have lunch, then? Because I’m starving.”

 

Ziyi looks up at the beaming face, then at the hand animatedly patting on silk-clad chest.

 

“It’s my treat,” Zhengting gushes, the creases of his eyes deepening.

 

A sinking realisation at the back of his mind tells Ziyi he probably wouldn’t be able to refuse anything that smile entails.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot. Keyword 'supposed'. Lemme go cry orz I kept sneaking time away to write this and at 3k there's still nothing happening it barely scratches the surface of the story I'm sorry for the bore sobs why is plot so hard to write I'm gonna stick to mindless fluff and romcom forever after this ;; also I can't promise a fast update but the very reason I'm posting this is so that I at least have the conscience to continue and complete it :') Zhengyi deserves better and yes I truly am deserving of each and every rotten tomato thrown at me _(´ཀ`」 ∠)_


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